Calendar Girls
by Babealicious
Summary: Mayhem ensues after Stephanie and Lula enter the Rangemen in a modeling contest. Babe. Rating may change later.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm back! Sorry for my lack of updating A Rare Delicacy, but RL hasn't been kind to me these past few months. I'm ready to write again and I hope you all are willing to read again! Enjoy this new little ficlet, hope every one had a great holiday and has a happy new year!**

"Think we'll be able to catch ol' Seymour tomorrow night?" Lula asked me around a mouthful of chocolate Häagen-Dazs.

I scoffed. "Of course," I said. "He's thirty-five years old, still lives with his mother, and makes cremation urns for a living out of his basement. If he's not home, then the Pope isn't Catholic."

"Damn skippy," agreed Lula. "Losers like him have nowhere else to be but home. Now us? We're out and about. We're at the mall, having dinner. With tons of other people." She looked around the Food Court and nodded in satisfaction. "We've got lives."

I was sitting on a cold metal mall chair in jeans soaked with grape juice. I had mustard in my hair, mayonnaise staining my tee shirt, and boots sporting Dumpster crud. My bruised shins ached from being slammed into the edge of a truck bumper, and the beginnings of a black eye, courtesy of Rita Garafaglio, were making my left eye swell shut.

Now, what the hell kind of life is that?

"I must reek pretty bad now," I said to Lula after awhile. "People are starting to stare."

Lula finished off her ice cream and licked the spoon clean. "Yeah," she said, looking at me like I was pond scum. "You need a shower. And a bonfire for those clothes."

We scraped our chairs back against the tile and gathered up our bags. Lula tossed her ice cream cup and helped me limp over to the trash can so that I could discard my Sbarro garbage. Since my legs didn't seem to want to cooperate much after sitting in the Food Court for so long, Lula offered to bring my car around to the nearest mall entrance so that I didn't have to walk far.

"You just wait here," she commanded, assisting me onto a bench and piling our bags up on the seat next to me. "I'll only be a minute." Lula, in a pair of shocking-green spandex leggings and a hot pink wrap jacket, took off with my keys and left me sitting by myself in the middle of the mall.

Several shoppers walked by and sniffed the air before grimacing or turning their noses up. A group of older ladies walked by and asked each other, "_What_ is that _smell_?"

I sighed, tired of all of the stares and comments. "It's me, okay?" I called after them. "I had a bad day at work!"

The ladies ducked their heads and hurried on by, no doubt mortified. Where the hell was Lula?

Ten minutes later, Lula hurried up to me and began scooping up all of our purchases. "I'm parked in the fire lane out in front of the East Entrance," she informed me. "We'd better hurry or they'll tow your Jeep."

Swell. "My legs hurt too bad to hurry," I muttered. I lifted my ass off of the wooden bench and hobbled after Lula. She stopped and waited until I grabbed hold of her elbow before taking off again.

A crash behind us caused me to quickly turn around. Lula had dropped one of our bags.

"My boots!" she screeched. Lula dashed behind me where a tall guy with a ponytail was holding up her Macy's bag.

"I believe you dropped this," he said, smiling a million-dollar smile at Lula.

"Thank you," Lula exclaimed. She took the bag from the man. "You know a woman's gotta have her boots."

He continued to smile. I noticed that he'd been standing in front of a small table set up near the entrance to the Food Court. An older woman sat behind the table with a pen and notebook, watching us. "I'm sure they'll look divine on you."

If Lula could blush, I was certain that she'd be bright pink by now. "Ain't you a charmer," she remarked, fanning herself. "You and that Rambo ponytail." She nudged me. "Don't he look like your boy?"

I shrugged, not really caring about much besides finding my Jeep and driving home to clean clothes and a shower.

"What's this you've got set up here?" Lula wanted to know, motioning toward his table. Several black and white photos lined the top of the table. _Joseph Casale Modeling and Career Agency _was scrawled on a banner across the front of the tablecloth.

"We are recruiting for modeling contest," the man replied smoothly. I noticed that he had a slight accent and that his lips seemed programmed to constantly smile. "The lucky winners will receive a photo shoot with Annie Leibovitz and a six-day, seven-night cruise in the South of France. Not to mention a complete new wardrobe, a hair-styling session with Pierre Alexandre, and the chance to become world-famous."

Lula's eyes lit up. "Yeah? Well, sign me up," she exclaimed.

I rolled my eyes and limped over to where Lula and the man were standing. "Um, Lula," I began. "My Jeep -

"This'll only take a second," Lula chided me.

The man chuckled, interrupting us both. "Ladies, I regret to inform you that we are recruiting gentlemen only. The photos from the shoot will be made into a 2011 calendar."

"Oh," Lula said, not able to hide her disappointment. "Well. Can't help you there."

The man laughed again. "Certainly not."

While Lula and the man were talking, the cog wheels in my brain began cranking. By the time the casual banter between Lula and Mr. Model had dwindled down, a master plan had formed in my head and was now in full swing.

I ignored the pains in my legs and the stares from everyone around me as I hobbled up to the woman sitting at the modeling table.

"Have you had much luck here today?" I asked her, gesturing around the mall.

She shook her head. "Not really," she admitted. "No one's really been male-model material."

Hunh. "I've got some friends who might be interested in auditioning," I said quietly. "May I have your contact information so that I can email you their photos?"

The woman's eyes lit up. "Certainly," she exclaimed. She pulled out a business card containing several phone numbers and web addresses. "I'd love to hear from you."

Lula came lumbering up to the table with all of the bags. "What's going on here?"

"I'll tell you later," I hissed to her. I turned back to the woman and smiled. "My name's Stephanie Plum. I'll contact you as soon as I've got everything gathered up."

"Wonderful," she replied.

I practically dragged Lula over to the East Entrance. "Tell me if I'm crazy, but I'm thinking of entering the guys in that modeling contest. They're all so sexy that they could have a chance at winning!"

Lula's eyes bugged out of her skull and her mouth was gaping-goldfish quality. "You serious? They'd never go for that."

"Did you hear about all of those fantastic prizes? Come on, Lula. They'll definitely go for it."

"I can see some of them _maybe_ being interested, but Batman'll put a damper on this plan so quick -

"Forget Ranger," I hissed. "I can talk him into letting the guys do it." My legs were killing me from hauling Lula just now and all I wanted to do was shut myself into my Jeep. We exited the mall and came face-to-face with a tow truck in the fire lane.

"Ooops," Lula said quietly. My Jeep was on the lift, preparing to be carted away.

"Wait!" I shouted to the driver through his open cab window, but he gunned the engine of the tow truck and roared away in a cloud of diesel exhaust fumes. "SHIT!"

Lula sighed. "Guess we spent too long at the modeling table."

I turned to her. "If you hadn't gotten friendly with Fabio back there, then we'd have made it to the Jeep before mall security called the wrecker!"

"Hey," Lula said defensively. "Who was chatting it up with the modeling lady, exchanging information and shit?"

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled. I took my cell phone out of my shoulder bag and hit speed dial #1.

A few rings sounded before, "Babe. Headed to the towyard?"

I sighed. Those damn trackers of his. "No. But my Jeep is."

"Need a ride?"

"Quaker Bridge Mall, East Entrance. We're outside. You'll probably see Lula before you see anything else."

"Give me twenty." The line went dead.

* * *

Ice packs were on both of my shins and a bag of frozen peas was situated over my left eye. I'd showered and shaved after throwing my clothes off of the fire escape in a fit of rage. To my horror, I'd watched from my bedroom window as old Mr. Wolesky inspected them before picking them up and disappearing back inside the building with them. I prayed that he wouldn't recognize them and try to give them back to me.

Someone knocked at my door ten minutes after I'd sat down with the ice packs. I hobbled over to the door and checked out the peep hole. Shit. It was Mr. Wolesky!

I threw open the door. "What's up?" I asked him.

He held out my clothes. "These flew off of a fire escape a little while ago," he said, making a face. "I figured they were yours. They smell pretty bad."

"Thanks," I mumbled, taking my ruined jeans and rancid tee shirt from him.

"Somebody roll you in garbage again today?" he asked.

I nodded. "Rita Garafaglio. Tossed my keys and stun gun into the Dumpster right after she got me in the eye."

"Yeah, she's a pip. She plays bingo at the Polish National Hall with me on Tuesdays. Someday you'll have a job where you won't have to go through this anymore," he said with a smile. "I'm sure of it."

I grinned back half-heartedly. "Thanks," I said.

"You got it, chickie." Mr. Wolesky pointed a bony finger at me. "Keep your chin up."

After Mr. Wolesky left, I took the clothes and bagged them in a Hefty bag. "Hasta la vista," I exclaimed to the bag. I put on a pair of flip flops and hobbled the bag down to the large garbage bin near the rear entrance to my apartment building. I tossed them inside and slammed the lid shut before painfully hiking back up to my apartment.

I sat down on the couch with my ice packs in place and my laptop up and running in my lap. The card for Joseph Casale Modeling and Career Agency was on the cushion next to me.

_Should I_? Sane Stephanie was asking.

_Go for it_! exclaimed Stupid Stephanie.

Stupid Stephanie won, fair and square. I got to work. I made a list of the guys who I thought might be interested and saved it as _Potential Calendar-Boys. _By the time I'd finished, I realized that I'd only saved eleven names. I figured I'd give myself some time to think about the twelfth guy while I posted pictures onto the other guys' bios.

Hmmm. I didn't exactly know a whole lot about the eleven that I'd picked, because most of them use one-word answers and rarely initiate conversation with me.

A slow, devious smile spread across my face as I devised yet another plan. Since I had hardly anything on them, I was going to have to make it up.

**_Cal Chambers  
_**_Enjoys long walks on the beach, wine-tasting, and lovely blondes._  
_Fly fishes when the weather is nice. Favorite holiday is Valentine's Day._  
_Age: 32. Sex: Male. Marital status: Single. Height: 6'3". Weight: 240._  
_Email address: Cal Chambers at RangemanTrenton . com_

_**Pierre "Tank" LaPeter**  
Likes dark chocolate fondue and Mexican food. Has a thing for full-figured Black women.  
Enjoys Christmas, romantic chick-flicks, and playing the harp.  
Age: 29. Sex: Male. Marital status: Single. Height: 6'4". Weight: 252.  
Email address: Tank LaPeter at RangemanTrenton . com_

_**Lester Santos**  
Loves hanging out on the beach in Speedos and tanning. Has several large pet tigers.  
Enjoys reality TV, cooking Spanish food, and sunny spring showers. Is obsessed with whitening his teeth.  
Age: 28. Sex: Male. Marital status: Playboy. Height: 6'2". Weight: 190.  
Email address: Lester Santos at RangemanTrenton . com_

_**Robert Brown**  
Enjoys yoga on his Wii and windsurfing during the summer. Was an amateur chess player in college.  
Has a thing for petite brunettes who drive Italian sports cars. Once got married in Vegas to his third cousin.  
Age: 28. Sex: Male. Marital status: Divorced. Height: 6'1. Weight: 200.  
Email address: Bobby Brown at RangemanTrenton . com_

By the time I was finished writing Bobby's "bio", I was laughing so hard I had tears streaming down my face. I definitely needed a beer before starting Hal's bio. I limped into the kitchen for a Bud Light and carried it back to the couch. It was surprisingly easier than I thought to come up with stuff about the guys because I was certain that not one bit of it was even _close_ to being true. My only fear was that someone from the modeling agency would call and request a picture of one of Lester's tigers or ask Tank to play a harp.

My twelfth and final guy came to me as I was finishing up Hector's bio. I must have had a death wish with this last one because the war between Sane Stephanie and Stupid Stephanie amped up to Desert Storm quality and, eventually, Stupid Steph kicked Sane Steph's ass. I finished off my second beer and sat back against the couch cushions with a smile on my face.

I found photos of all of the guys on my hard drive, in my picture file. Some were of us all at company functions, some were of us out on the field, some were of us partying after a distraction job. I cropped several of the pictures and attached them to their respective bios. They were ready to send to Joseph Casale.

I hit _send_ and sat back against the couch again. My stomach felt slightly queasy when I thought of what the guys would do to me if they ended up being outraged by all of this, but there was nothing I could do about it now. The bios were officially the property of Joseph Casale Modeling and Career Agency.

Lula called me not long after I'd sent the email to Joseph Casale.

"White girl. Did you do it? Did you send those people the info about the guys?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I'm not sure if I'll get a response, though. The guys might not be what they're looking for."

"They for damn sure are what they're looking for," Lula objected. "Once those modeling folks get a load of all that muscle and pure male sexiness, they'll be calling them up for certain."

"I don't know," I said slowly. "I hope this doesn't backfire. I mean, so what if they get called to audition? It's not like they can't say no. They don't _have_ to do it. It's just a good opportunity that I didn't think they should pass up."

"I hear you. Well, call me if you or the guys hear from the agency. I'm dying to know here!"

"I will."

I disconnected and went to bed, praying to God that they guys don't kill Lula and I when they find out what we've done.

* * *

My cubicle isn't very big. It's large enough to fit my desk and chair, and my office equipment, and two guest chairs. I'd gotten up early to allow myself enough time to get ready, because I still wasn't quick on my feet. Damn that Rita Garafaglio to hell. I punched in at the timeclock and carried a cup of coffee back to my desk.

"Morning," I said cheerfully to Ram, who was on monitors as I passed by on my way to my cubicle.

"Morning, Steph," he replied. He turned back to the monitors.

Hunh. I was guessing that the woman from Joseph Casale received my emails either last night or this morning, but hadn't gotten a chance to get back to any of the guys yet. Ram was number eight on my list.

I sat down at my desk and got to work on a few of the Rodriguez searches. In between files, I sipped my coffee and repeatedly hit the refresh button on my inbox. I'd told the woman from the agency to email me when she received the bios, but it was already ten o'clock and I still hadn't heard from her.

Suddenly, at ten-thirty, I refreshed and found an email.

_Hi Stephanie,_

_Thank you for the pictures and bios of your friends! I've gone through them all this morning and I will be contacting each one directly by email. They are absolutely fantastic for what we're looking for, so I expect to get in touch with each of them right away. Thanks again, you've been a tremendous help! _

_Linda Franzetti  
Talent Search Specialist  
__Joseph Casale Modeling and Career Agency_

Ohmigod! She liked them! I panicked, not sure as to why I was worried, but I supposed it was because I never thought she'd respond. Shit. In a matter of minutes, the guys would receive emails from Linda and if they got mad about all of this, my ass was for sure grass.

My pounding heart was the only sound I heard for ten straight minutes. I sat in my chair, wondering what the hell to do.

Lester was the first to start yelling.

_"Teeth whitening?"_ I heard him holler from his office. _"Pet tigers? STEPHANIE!"_

Tank was next. _"I can't play the fucking harp," _he shouted._ "STEPH!"_

_"Married to my COUSIN? STEPHANIE!" _Had to be Bobby.

Cal. _"Since when the hell do I fly-fish?"_

Seven more similar shouts followed, all from different areas of the floor.

Last but not least, the twelfth guy on my list finally spoke up, and he didn't sound happy.

_"Babe."_

Yikes!

* * *

A/N: TBC...find out what happens when the guys finally get their hands on Steph!


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, everybody! Alas, here is Chapter 2 of Calendar Girls. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

I glanced around nervously at the twelve unhappy faces staring back at me. Ranger's jaw was ticking and uneasiness suddenly swept across my body. _What have I gotten myself into?_

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to keep myself from panicking. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," I began, my voice shaking slightly. "I know that you've all received e-mails from someone at Joseph Casale Modeling and Career Agency, and before you jump the gun and say no, I'd like you to think about what winning this modeling contest would mean for all of you."

Bobby spoke up, "Steph, we're busy guys. Not only will these auditions and photo shoots take up a lot of time that we may not necessarily have, the responsibilities that would follow should we win the contest will most likely be way too much for us to take on."

"And I've got an issue with my bio," Lester countered gruffly. "Not one of the things you've written about me is true, Steph. How can you expect me to face the people who think that I've got pet tigers and that I stroll around on the beach in Speedos? What's gonna happen when they figure out that I'm definitely _not_ obsessed with whitening my teeth?"

I tried to laugh but it came out as a nervous chuckle. "I know the bios are a little...far-fetched, but I hardly know anything about any of you. Joseph Casale asked for a short background on each of the applicants, and I knew that if I'd have asked each of you to write one, you'd have all said no right off the bat. Look, all I'm asking here is for you to seriously consider auditioning. Would it be so bad? So they snap a couple of pictures of you without your shirts on and have a panel of judges decide if you're modeling material. And Lula and I figured you're all prime candidates."

"Lula is in on this?" Tank exclaimed. "She hasn't mentioned this to me at all. What were the two of you thinking? I can't believe -

"Tank, this was mostly my idea. Please don't be angry with Lula," I begged. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I checked the readout and recognized the phone number. "I'll have to take this," I told the guys. "Bear with me for a few minutes." I turned away from the conference table and answered the call.

"Stephanie, this is Linda Franzetti from Joseph Casale," said a woman's voice.

"Linda, hi," I exclaimed. I heard murmurs from the guys behind me, no doubt because they knew that Linda is the one who'd e-mailed them. "I was just talking to the guys about the audition." I looked behind me at the group at the table. They looked even more pissed than when they'd first sat down. I gave them a little finger wave and turned back to the wall. "They're...really excited."

"Good," she replied. "I'd like to get a few of them in for a photo shoot audition this afternoon. Now, all twelve of them can't come in at once, so I'd like for four at a time to be scheduled. Do you think you can give me a list of who can make it this afternoon?"

Yikes! This was all happening so fast. "Um, I'll have to get back to you on that. What time this afternoon?"

"Four-ish," Linda replied. "Mr. Anthony, our photographer, is here today and has some time to meet with a few of the guys. Can you let me know in an hour or so?"

Shit. "Sure," I said hesitantly. "I'll call you back at this number."

I disconnected and dared to look back at the guys. "Okay, here's the thing," I began, giving them my best, sweetest smile.

"Fuck no," Ram immediately interjected. He got up from the table, followed by Hal and Vince. "No way, Stephanie."

"Guys, guys, guys," I hissed, rushing to Ram and leading him and Vince and Hal back over to their chairs. "Please don't do this! I'm counting on you to follow through with this!"

"You should have never done this in the first place without asking us, Steph," exclaimed Tank. "Now we're obligated to give our time and effort to another one of your mess-ups!"

Ouch. Direct blow to the gut by Tank.

"Tank, man, that was harsh," Lester said quietly, nudging Tank's arm.

Tank sighed and looked down at his boots. "I'm sorry, Steph, I really am. But I can't see any of us going through with this."

Hector nodded. "There's too much going on here, mami. I can see maybe a few of us doing it, but all twelve of us? _Dios_."

Ranger, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke up. "Babe, we all appreciate the gesture. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to say no." Ranger lowered his voice. "And I'd like to see you in my office later regarding the bio that you've written for me."

Crap. "Sure," I replied quietly.

The guys all began to vacate their chairs and trickle out of the conference room. I was losing them, and fast. I turned back to Ranger and clasped my hands together. "Ranger, can you please think about this more? The woman from the agency is counting on me to find twelve guys to audition for this modeling contest! She's seen your pictures and thinks all of you could win! She only needs a few guys at a time to do an audition photo shoot. That won't take up much of your workforce because it's only four guys at a time."

Ranger frowned. "I don't know, Steph..."

I smiled and widened my eyes. "Cruise to the South of France? Makeover by a famous stylist? The chance to be _world-famous_?"

Ranger sighed and was quiet for a moment. "Fine," he finally said. "If some of the guys want to do it, I'll give my consent. But keep in mind that I, for one, will not be auditioning. Not after what you've written down in my bio."

"It's not every day that the Joseph Casale people have the chance to meet a former Cirque du Soleil acrobat."

Ranger reddened and a hit of a smile cracked on his lips as he shook his head. "You couldn't have picked fighter jet pilot or Hollywood stuntman."

I raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Oh, so given the choice, you'd have rather done one of those than be a bad-ass mercenary who saves the world?"

He laughed and drew my face up to his. "You never disappoint, babe," he whispered against my lips before capturing them with his own.

* * *

Lester was sitting at his desk, peering intently at his laptop, when I rapped on his open office door. "Can I come in?" I asked tentatively.

He looked up and gestured for me to enter. When I'd seated myself in one of his guest chairs, he abandoned his computer and sat back in his leather executive chair. "So. Teeth whitening. I'd have never guessed that you would think of me as being so vain, Steph."

I grimaced. "Les, I know that you'd like to kill me right now, or at least incapacitate me -

"You heard the boss, Steph. No means no. And I can't say I'm all that disappointed about his decision."

"What if I told you that he gave consent to whoever would like to do it?"

Lester scoffed. "Even if the President himself gave me direct orders to go, it'll have to be a cold day in hell."

"You're being unreasonable, Santos. Think of what this could mean for you. You're the one who's always talking about wishing you were famous and having all kinds of women falling at your feet."

Les blushed. "Yeah, but -

"And if you win this contest, you'll no doubt have the ladies fanning themselves at the sight of you in front of a camera, being naturally sexy. You'd be a shoo-in!"

Lester was silent for several moments. Finally, he said, "If Bobby and Tank agree to do it, then I'll go."

Yes! Score one point for Plum. "I'll talk to them," I assured him. "Do you have anywhere to be at four o'clock this afternoon?"

"I'm off at three. But I was gonna see if Candice -

"Forget Candice," I interrupted him. "She'll understand. Believe me."

Lester cracked a smile. "You're something else, beautiful."

* * *

As soon as Tank and Bobby found out that Lester would go to the modeling audition if they did, and after _much_ persuasion by me and a phone call to Lula, Tank and Bobby reluctantly agreed to meet with Mr. Anthony over at Joseph Casale at four o'clock.

The green room at Joseph Casale Modeling and Career Agency was loaded with snacks and assorted beverages. Tank, Bobby, Lula, Lester, and I all trooped in and Bobby and Lester immediately made a beeline for the table of goodies.

"Stephanie," exclaimed a woman's voice from behind me. I whirled around and wasn't surprised to find that it was Linda. "It's wonderful to see you! Thank you all for coming in this afternoon." Linda walked up to me and shook my hand. She stood in between Tank and Bobby and flushed. "And you must be the gentlemen that I've been hearing so much about. My, my."

I stifled a laugh. Women really did have minor orgasms at the sight of the Merry Men. "These are my friends," I told Linda. "Lester Santos, Bobby Brown, and Tank LaPeter."

"Tank," Linda gushed, giggling like a schoolgirl. "I wonder where you got that nickname."

"Army, ma'am."

"Ooooh. Well, at ease, soldier." Linda fake-saluted him, chuckling. She turned to Bobby and ignored Lula morphing into rhino-mode behind her. "And you must be Robert."

"Call me Bobby, ma'am," Bobby said, extending his hand for Linda to shake.

"Certainly," she breathed. She looked around for Lester and found him shoving the last of a cruller into his mouth over by the food table. He looked up when Linda approached him and gave her his patented drop-dead-gorgeous lopsided grin.

"Hi," he said, his mouth still full. "Sorry, I didn't have lunch today." He wiped the cruller crumbs off of his hand and reached out to shake Linda's. Linda was speechless as she got a gander at the dimpled, smiling face of Rangeman's own baby-faced sex symbol.

"Le - Lester," she garbled, blushing furiously and drawing out her handshake much longer than she should have. "So nice to meet you."

Lester smiled again. "Same here." He turned back to the food table. "Now, are there some kind of sandwiches? Because -

He was cut off by my elbow jabbing into his gut. He oofed and stepped back away from the food table. Tank had helped himself to a cup of punch and was sipping it while Bobby ate a chocolate chip cookie. I had to laugh at the sight of Linda standing amidst three six-foot-plus, heavily-muscled guys. She looked like King Kong's tiny prisoner.

"Shall we go and meet Mr. Anthony?" Linda suggested when she recovered from meeting Lester.

Linda led us all into a small studio and a sleek, flashy white-haired man entered from around the corner. He gasped when he saw the three guys and stuck his hand on his hip in a feminine pose.

"Well, well, well," he gushed. "I have died and gone to heaven, Linda."

Linda chuckled. "Oh, Giancarlo," she scoffed. "These are your four o'clock auditions for today. Lester Santos, Bobby Brown, and Tank LaPeter."

"It's wonderful to meet you all," Mr. Anthony lisped. "And you especially." He winked at Lester, who turned to me and began mouthing something that looked a _lot_ like, _"I'm going to kill you." _

"Stephanie tells me that the other nine gentlemen may not be auditioning after all," Linda lamented to Mr. Anthony. "I'm afraid you've only got three today."

"Four," a voice behind me spoke up. I whirled around and saw Ranger stepping into the studio. My heart skipped a beat.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

"I can't let my core team go through this alone." He cleared his throat and looked up at the guys, who were standing speechless next to Mr. Anthony. "Don't make me regret this, gentlemen."

My cheeks were hurting from smiling so wide. "This is great," I gushed to Ranger as Mr. Anthony began assembling his camera and the backdrop in front of which the guys would be standing. "What changed your mind?"

"I thought about what you said earlier," he replied. "And you're right. It's not every day that the modeling people have the chance to meet a former Cirque du Soleil acrobat." Ranger flashed me a knee-weakening grin.

I was speechless. "Wha...how...when..."

Ranger pulled me into a corner, away from the crowd, and wrapped his arms around my waist. He put his lips directly next to my ear and grumbled, "You owe me big time tonight, babe."

Yowza!

* * *

"That's it," Mr. Anthony was calling. "A little more smile, a little less intimidation." He snapped several pictures of Tank shirtless in front of the white screen. Tank's facial features relaxed slightly when he saw Lula making sexy poses behind Mr. Anthony. She was wearing what looked to be a shocking-pink lab coat, black leggings, and matching shocking-pink faux fur ski boots.

"Smile, Tankie," Lula exclaimed. "Watch me." She tumbled around behind Mr. Anthony, fur from her boots flying everywhere, and Tank was now laughing. As Lula skipped and danced, Tank's smiles just kept getting wider.

"Excellent," Mr. Anthony yelled. "Perfect!"

"You looked ridiculous," Tank said to Lula when his shoot was finished. "I know I hardly ever laugh, but you doing that dance routine had me cracking up."

"Glad it worked," Lula replied proudly, reaching up to give him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

Lester was next. He removed his tee shirt and stood in front of Mr. Anthony in nothing but baggy black BDUs and black shit-stompers.

No further instructions were needed from Mr. Anthony. Lester Santos was unsurprisingly a natural in front of the camera. His charismatic facial expressions and knee-weakening smiles took up a roll and a half of Mr. Anthony's film. And if Mr. Anthony was using a digital camera, I was certain that the amount of photos he'd taken of Lester was sure to clog up his computer's hard drive.

"Fabulous," Mr. Anthony exclaimed as he snapped Lester bending down with his elbow on his knee, looking sinister and bad-ass. "I'm weak in the knees here."

Bobby was next. He, too, was unsurprisingly good in front of the camera. "I modeled a little in high school," he admitted to Linda and I.

When Mr. Anthony called for the last auditinoner, Ranger was nowhere to be found. I ducked out of the studio and checked the green room. Sure enough, Ranger was standing in front of the table of goodies, probably wondering where the bean sprouts and celery sticks were.

"You're up," I said to him.

He turned around and gestured towards the food table. "Nothing healthy here," he informed me.

I smiled. "You missed Bobby's shoot," I said.

"Watching Tank's and Lester's were enough," Ranger said, grimacing. "It's not everyday that a boss gets to see his employees reduced to giddy, runway-happy wannabe-superstars."

"Okay. The only giddy one was Santos, and I'm sure that the last thing on Tank's mind is superstardom."

Ranger laughed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "So. I'm up."

I nodded. "Yeah." I nudged him toward the door to the green room. "Go show them what you've got, Batman."

When Ranger was ready in front of the white screen, Mr. Anthony and Linda came bustling into the studio. "Is he ready?" Linda asked me. I nodded towards Ranger, who was shirtless and scowling in front of the white screen.

"He's ready."

Linda took one look at Ranger and sank down into a chair. She was flushed and Bobby immediately rushed to her and began fanning her face. "She'll be okay," he announced. "Give her a few."

Mr. Anthony, speechless at the sight of his latest auditioner, managed to snap one single photo of Ranger before thunking his camera down onto a table and collapsing into a chair alongside Linda. "That's all I can do right now," he breathed. "He's so gorgeous that it hurts for me to look at him."

"Damn, Bossman," Lester said, laughing. "I think you killed the photographer."

"My heart," whined Mr. Anthony. "Be still, my heart."

Ranger flashed one of his rare, thousand-watt grins at me.

My thoughts exactly, Mr. Anthony.

* * *

When we got back to Rangeman, several of the guys were waiting for us on two.

"How'd it go?" asked Cal as we all trooped out of the elevator. "Where are the four of you keeping your nuts until this is over with?"

Hector snickered. "Probably on a shelf in Bossman's office. So they can be reattached."

Ranger frowned. "Suarez, there'll be no more talk about my men's or my nuts." He pointed a finger in Hector's face and stalked into his office. The guys and Lula and I followed. "It really wasn't all that bad."

"Until you gave the photographer a stroke," Bobby pointed out. "Bossman's got real modeling talent."

"Seriously? It was okay?" Hal wanted to know.

Lester nodded. "Fun, actually. I'm just glad nobody asked about my pet tigers today." He threw me a menacing glance.

Cal, Hal, Ram, and Vince all looked at each other. "I dunno, man. Should we do it?" Cal asked the bunch.

The guys were silent before Hal spoke up, "I'll do it. These guys" - he pointed a finger at Lester, Ranger, Tank, and Bobby - "did it and managed to come out alive, albeit sans nuts. Why can't we?"

"Yeah," agreed Vince and Ram. "We'll do it, Steph."

My heart lifted and I heard angels sing. "Seriously? You guys won't chicken out?"

"You have our word," Ram supplied, making me a pinky-swear promise. "Call Linda. Set it up."

"Okay!" I exclaimed. "Thanks, you guys."

"You bet, Steph. So how did the Bossman kill the photographer?" Junior wanted to know.

"I don't really know. All the guy did was look at him."

"Yeah, that'll do it," mumbled Lula to my right, fanning herself.

* * *

I stepped out of the shower after shaving and shampooing myself to near perfection and gasped when I saw Ranger lying across my bed covers, fully clothed and with a loaded utility belt.

"Knocking is always appreciated," I spat, recovering from the scare. "And doorbell-ringing, too."

"You don't have a doorbell, babe," Ranger pointed out. "Had a long day?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." I chose a pair of tiny boxers out of my bureau and paired them with a cute tank top. I grabbed a thong from my underwear drawer and carried everything back into the bathroom. "I took a bunch of ex-military mercenaries to a modeling photo shoot today. I'm exhausted."

I heard Ranger lift himself off of my bed in the bedroom. "And how did that go?" He stood in the bathroom doorway and watched while I pulled on my boxer shorts. A wolf grin appeared on his lips and I watched his eyes darken.

"As well as it could have gone, considering one of them was a total ham and two more of them looked like they were ready to attack the photographer with their scowls and frowns."

"Were they naturals?" Ranger pressed, leaning against the bathroom doorframe with one of his forearms over his head.

"All of them are certainly sexy enough to be models. But they lack...finesse."

"Finesse," Ranger repeated. "Would you say that finesse is needed to succeed in show business?"

I had to laugh. "What's with all these questions, Ranger? You were there today."

"I can show you finesse, babe." With that, he smoothly reached out to me with his hands and brought me up against his hard front. The scent of him made me dizzy and the closeness of him made me melt. "Watch and learn."

Ranger pressed his hot mouth up against mine and caused all coherent thought to escape my brain. I opened my mouth for him and he thrust his tongue inside, tasting me as his warm hands caressed my bottom and his hard length pushed against the apex of my thighs.

"That's right," I said in a sing-song voice when we came up for air. "I owe you for today."

"A deal's a deal, babe. We've made them before."

And it's never ended well for me.

Ranger watched the uncertaintly surface in my gaze. "This one, I promise, will end very well for you."

Oh, boy!

* * *

A/N: So will all of the guys be accepted into the modeling contest? What will they do when the folks from Joseph Casale ask them about their bios during their next audition? Find out soon!


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